


The Art of Compromise

by nishizono



Series: Principles of Morality [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Fisting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-12
Updated: 2011-06-12
Packaged: 2017-10-20 08:56:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishizono/pseuds/nishizono
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade and Sherlock ask each other for very different things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Compromise

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Age disparity (Sherlock is 18, Lestrade is 32)

Sherlock spending the night becomes a thing.

It becomes so much of a thing, in fact, that Lestrade often sits back, surveys the wreckage of his once-clean flat, and wonders if Sherlock is trying to move in without him noticing. If so, he's not doing a very good job of being subtle. Sherlock's clothes are strewn across the bedroom floor, and there's a stack of chemistry textbooks on the nightstand that Lestrade is pretty sure _he_ didn't put there. It should probably be annoying. It's not.

Lestrade has always been a loner. Even back at university, he'd worked two jobs just so he could afford his own apartment. Living with Sherlock would be different, though, because of who they are and what Sherlock means to him. If nothing else, it'd let him keep an eye on Sherlock full time.

He's mulling all of this over one morning while he pretends to watch telly and Sherlock reads beside him. They've just had breakfast, and now they're lounging on the couch together. He's got an arm around Sherlock, and Sherlock is toying with his fingers. It's nice, the sort of nice a bloke could really get used to, and he thinks oh hell, why not? They're halfway there anyway.

“Do you want to move in?” asks Lestrade at the same time Sherlock says, “I want you to fist me.”

They stare at each other until Lestrade finds his voice and croaks, “I'm sorry, what?”

“I said I want you to fist me. Did you just ask me to move in?”

Lestrade doesn't know what to say. He's knows that Sherlock is precocious, but Sherlock is also just barely _not_ a virgin. Even if Lestrade said yes, Sherlock doesn't have nearly enough experience to take something as big as a fist.

And yet...

“Why do you do that?” asks Sherlock with a sigh. He tosses his book aside, then crawls onto Lestrade's lap. The way he positions himself puts his arse against Lestrade's crotch, and he gives Lestrade a pointed glare as he grinds down against it.

Lestrade is pretty sure Sherlock asked him something, but fuck if he can remember what it was.

“We both know you like the idea,” says Sherlock in a matter-of-fact tone. It still kills Lestrade how the kid can talk about things like barebacking and fisting like he's giving a lecture on biology. “Why do you always act shocked when I ask you for things like this?”

“Because I _am_ ,” says Lestrade. “You're--”

“Yes, yes, I know, I'm only eighteen. Honestly, Greg, spare me. If you really felt that guilty, you wouldn't still be fucking me.”

“This isn't about guilt,” says Lestrade, even though it sort of is. He's more or less given up on the idea of keeping Sherlock pure-- if he's not despoiling Sherlock, someone else will be, and the thought of anyone else doing it makes him sick-- but there are limits to how far he's willing to take this, and it's not just for Sherlock's sake. Lately, he's starting to wonder if he wouldn't let Sherlock tug him straight down into darkness.

“I'm not asking for anything terrible,” says Sherlock, which strikes Lestrade as funny because he's not sure that Sherlock _has_ a definition for terrible. Sherlock wriggles a little and murmurs, “You have such nice hands.”

“Flattery isn't going to get you what you want,” says Lestrade, but what Sherlock is doing with his hips just might.

Sherlock smiles. He slides a hand underneath the collar of Lestrade's shirt, then ducks his head to lick the side of Lestrade's neck. His tongue is hot and eager, and he purrs when Lestrade tugs his hair. Despite his grown-up fantasies, cold demeanor, and filthy mouth, there's still something sweet about Sherlock, and _that's_ what Lestrade is trying to protect. Unfortunately, that's also the thing that makes him want to give Sherlock anything he asks for.

“If I agreed...” says Lestrade.

Sherlock pauses and lifts his head. The expression on his face is nothing short of triumphant.

Lestrade narrows his eyes and tells him, “This is purely hypothetical, Sherlock.”

“Of course, Greg.”

“ _If_ I agreed to do this,” says Lestrade, “it's not something we could just go and _do_ , spur of the moment. We'd have to work up to it.”

“You can't honestly think I don't know that already.”

Lestrade can just picture Sherlock now, crouched in his armchair at home with his laptop balanced on his knees, devouring every scrap of information he can find about fisting. The image is much hotter than it should be.

“I know what I'm asking for,” says Sherlock. “I don't ask for things unless I know what they entail.”

Lestrade sighs and lets his head fall back, then lets his eyes drift closed when Sherlock licks the hollow of his throat.

“We both know you'll enjoy it,” whispers Sherlock, his breath tickling Lestrade's skin. “Besides, you owe me this since you won't fuck me without a condom.”

Lestrade chuckles and tugs at Sherlock's hair again. “I didn't realize I'm expected to hand out consolation prizes for fantasies.”

“That's an oversight on your part, not mine.”

Lestrade doesn't reply, he just relaxes into the feeling of Sherlock's lips on his skin. Most of the time when Sherlock touches him, there's no doubt that it's sexual, but sometimes, like now, it feels more like an exploration. Lestrade isn't sure what Sherlock is looking for-- at this point, they probably know each other's bodies better than they know their own-- but he's happy to let it continue just for the pleasure of having Sherlock's full attention.

After awhile, though, his thoughts start to drift, and he eventually remembers what he'd meant to ask Sherlock before the conversation had been so spectacularly derailed. He waits until Sherlock takes a break from biting his jaw, then murmurs, “Speaking of oversights, you never answered my question.”

“Hm?”

Lestrade opens his eyes and lifts his head, then uses a finger under Sherlock's chin to force him to do the same. Once he's sure that Sherlock is paying more attention to what he's saying than what he tastes like, he asks, “Do you want to move in with me?”

There's a long pause, and when Sherlock's brows draw together, Lestrade knows what the answer will be. “Why would I want to do that?”

It's not a surprise, and it's not like Lestrade had his heart set on the idea in the first place, but his tone is still sharper than usual when he says, “I don't know. You're the one always pushing for things. I thought I'd offer for once, before you start making demands.”

“I've hurt your feelings,” says Sherlock. There's no remorse in his tone, but at least he looks vaguely concerned.

Lestrade sighs. “No, you're just-- forget it. All right? Forget I brought it up. I thought you'd want it, that's all.”

“Greg,” says Sherlock. For just a second, he looks uncharacteristically uncertain, but then he weaves his fingers into Lestrade's hair and says, “It doesn't make sense for us to live together. I don't want to live with anyone and neither do you. You're only asking because you think that's what people are meant to do when they're involved, but we both know it would be disastrous.”

Lestrade knows that Sherlock is right, but he doesn't want to admit it when his pride is still smarting from rejection. It's on the tip of his tongue to point out that Sherlock is practically living there already, but he knows that would sound like a complaint, so he stays quiet.

“You needn't try to normalize everything,” huffs Sherlock. “You needn't try to normalize _me_.”

Lestrade eyes Sherlock, then grudgingly replies, “You're the one who's always going on about the seemingly impossible cases being the only ones worth taking.”

The smile Sherlock gives him is one of those bright, dazzling smiles that aren't as rare as they used to be, but which Lestrade still covets all the same. He dives in for a kiss, a little too eager and a little too rough, and he's perfect, as usual, in a way that only Sherlock Holmes can be.


End file.
